Liar, Liar
by guineapiggie
Summary: "I'm dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest." -Their world was full of liars.- [Modern AU, Rated T for language and dark themes, dark]


**Liar, Liar**

**DISCLAIMER: **Everything is with their rightful owners, no money is made of this.

_***A/N***_ I haven't read much of A Song of Ice and Fire yet, only one and a half books, so I hope this isn't _too_ much out of character (it _is_ AU). This was very much inspired by "ultraviolence" by Gray Doll (which is utter perfection and you need to go read it) and the quote below.

**This series is continued in "The Mockingbird's Song" which you can find on my profile.**

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_"Me? I'm dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly... stupid." -_ Pirates of the Caribbean - The Curse of the Black Pearl

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Pale blue eyes sparkled at the outside world. Thick, bright red hair framed her pretty face. Flowing white shirts and stiff black skirts, frail golden jewellery and thick grey scarves adorned her slender body.

She had a boyfriend to hold her hand, too - Joffrey was young, handsome as anything, richer than God, powerful and had a golden future ahead of him.

(There was the minor drawback that he'd killed her father, of course. Shot him right into the face, snuffed out Ned Stark's life like a candle. Smiling. With a pervert little spark in his eyes.)

_._

_Their world was full of liars._

.

The ring was what had started it, she concluded later.

The ring was when the world had robbed her of her innocence.

She had never really loved Joffrey Lannister. Sansa had loved the feeling of being in love, or what she had believed to be love. But when he'd put the ring on her finger – not for her, not for her wit or her cleverness or her strength, just because she was beautiful enough to show her off – that was when she had started to hate him. That was when the spark left her eyes and the smile disappeared from her lips.

He was a disgusting man. He was cruel and cold and self-centred, he was plaintive and couldn't take care of himself. He acted like a king with his money and his guns and his fast, expensive cars, but deep down, Joffrey was scared of the entire world.

And that was where Sandor Clegane came in – Sandor, his youth lost too soon, his face framed by a greasy shock of dark hair, all but good-looking with the big ugly scar covering the right side of his head. His money left on gambling tables and in the purses of prostitutes, lost at card games and shoved over sticky counters. His future nothing but nights in the arms of cheap, wasted whores and days spent in the company of a few bottles of cheap vodka.

Sandor was the exact opposite of Joffrey.

And Sandor wasn't scared of anything.

Not even of Joffrey.

And for that, Sansa admired him. He protected her from Joffrey, too – at first with cold eyes and never more than five words, but he did – and for that, Sansa loved him just a little bit.

By the time Joffrey took over the family business, Sansa loved him, period.

Sandor was rude and gruff and constantly drunk, but she felt safe with him, safer than she'd felt in months, years; as safe as she'd felt with her father. And he loved her, did everything for her, and he always spoke his mind. Sandor was different, and she wished she could spend the rest of her life with him. For that, she would have done just about anything.

It was Sandor who taught her how to use a gun, and it was Sandor who stood behind her when she first pulled the trigger. Sandor who held her while she watched the life being drained from Joffrey's henchman (she could only guess that it was Joffrey who sent the man to kill her, but who else was there who wanted her dead?).

Sansa's life was terrible – but in Sandor's arms, she was just a little happy. In his arms, she still found herself telling the truth.

_._

_In their world, everything honest perished._

_In their world, sincere people bled out very, very slowly._

.

Petyr survived. He served whoever had reached the top, no matter what his last name was. Petyr cared little for how old that person was and even less for whether or not whoever styled themselves a king these days was capable of ruling or not. The world was tough and their city was cold and cruel.

There were guns and drugs and whores, there were families who ruled because they had covered the streets with bodies. There were the people that ended up on the wrong end of the barrel.

Petyr wasn't stupid, and he wasn't squeamish. He had no intention to end up as the result of a drug deal gone wrong or the bloodied end of a fight over some woman and he wasn't stupid enough to think being at the top would keep him alive.

Petyr amassed money, and with the money he built brothels and hired whores, and with the brothels and the whores he amassed more money. Money kept you save, much more than guns and baseball bats, as long as you were the one lending it to others.

(In a way, he was more predictable than the young thing he watched from afar, the plaything of the one who ruled town – for now. Petyr was a liar, everyone knew that, and everyone knew that if you were stupid enough to trust him, it was your own damn fault if things turned out bad for you. But the_ girl_, she was innocence in person. And nobody could tell when she would finally learn to betray you.)

Every word that crossed his lips was a lie, everything he did part of a bigger plot, his every thought another plan, another intrigue, another way to control the city from the safety of his office.

Petyr wasn't living, he had no time for that, but living was overrated.

Petyr wasn't happy, God knew if he'd ever been, but happiness was overrated, too.

He was _alive_.

.

_In their world, there was no place for true love._

.

Pale blue eyes like ice watched the world cautiously through a frame of fine black eyeliner. Thick, bright red hair framed her pretty face. Tailor-made dark dresses and leather jackets clung to her slim form and silver jewellery adorned her alabaster skin.

"You're a woman, don't you want to look like one?" had been his question, served with a lazy smile and a dirty look out of greyish composed eyes, when she asked him what was wrong with pleated skirts and white blouses.

He had got her off the street after Joffrey had found her and Sandor – and taught his bodyguard just how bad an idea it was to run away with _King Joffrey's_ miserable fiancée. It had been an unimaginable bloodbath. Sansa had roamed the streets for a week or two like a stray dog, drunk and still in her blood-stained clothes. A black car had pulled up next to her when she'd been ready to collapse and die right there between the rubbish and the dirt. Someone had told her to get in and she had thought they were going to abduct her, torture her, rape her. She still got in, and why would she not? What did she have to lose?

He hadn't done anything of the sort, though. He'd taken her into his home without a word of explanation or claiming a price – yet.

And for that, Sansa was grateful. She lived a good life in his vast, cold loft, came and went as she liked, and when he first kissed her, he didn't make her feel like he owned her. (Even though deep down she knew that he did, in fact, own every last bit of Sansa Stark, and simply had no need to say so).

Sansa admired him, his sharp mind and his never ending, strong will.

It was Petyr who taught her how to drive a car, and it was Petyr who bought her a shiny black Audi. Petyr who fucked her on the black leather seats.

Sansa's life was easier now – and when he whispered "I love you" into her ear during the night, she could almost believe it. In his arms, she learned to lie right back.

.

_Their world was full of liars._

_(Because only the liars got to live.)_

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